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Mother
laid
down
her
pen
among
the
pages
that
were
scattered
all
over
the
table
,
pages
covered
with
her
writing
,
which
was
almost
as
plain
as
print
,
and
much
prettier
.
She
ran
her
hands
into
her
hair
,
as
if
she
were
going
to
pull
it
out
by
handfuls
.
"
Poor
dear
head
,
"
said
Bobbie
,
"
does
it
ache
?
"
"
No
--
yes
--
not
much
,
"
said
Mother
.
"
Bobbie
,
do
you
think
Peter
and
Phil
are
FORGETTING
Father
?
"
"
NO
,
"
said
Bobbie
,
indignantly
.
"
Why
?
"
"
You
none
of
you
ever
speak
of
him
now
.
"
Bobbie
stood
first
on
one
leg
and
then
on
the
other
.
"
We
often
talk
about
him
when
we
're
by
ourselves
,
"
she
said
.
"
But
not
to
me
,
"
said
Mother
.
"
Why
?
"
Bobbie
did
not
find
it
easy
to
say
why
.
